“It ruled with malice and hatred, and all lived under its sway.
Though its growing power attracted opposition, heralded by the birth of hope.”
Light’s origin,
Page 1, Line 2-3
“CAN YOU FEEL THAT?”
“Should I be able to…”
“Concentrate, extend your senses. Don’t push like they taught you. Pull. Pull the sensations, the scents, the sounds in. Just a fraction of what they are.”
“I, I can feel it… I think. Is it light?”
“Yeah! That’s it!” Trista exclaimed excitedly and then clamped her hand over her mouth. Palos opened his eyes and saw her red-faced embarrassment illuminated by the light in her hand. He chuckled.
She sat on the opposite side of the barn from him, shielding the light with her body to prevent any that may pass from noticing. She removed her hand and revealed a smile.
They had been meeting almost nightly for two months and progress had been slow at first, but Palos felt more achievement here than he had in years at the academy. That education had become monotonous beyond the regular combat and survival classes. He had always been more of a ‘hands-on’ kind of person and the torrent of history and theory lessons provided him with little excitement.
He also felt lied to. All their strictly regimented magic lessons and theory had only ever talked about pushing energy and creating things with it. Things that they could not do without a source or ‘well’ of magical energy, but Trista had shown him a different way, something they had never mentioned. A way to feel the energy of those things around you and pull it in.
He smiled as he watched her extract herself, not so elegantly, from the pile of hay and come over to him. She sat and raised her hand, letting the dim light slowly appear again.
“Okay, Blackstone, let’s try something new,” she had taken to calling him ‘Blackstone’. A nickname she had coined in their first few meetings after he had continuously raved about seeing a ‘fire’ in the obsidian shard he had found. Her original tone had been one of mockery, but it had stuck as a term of endearment.
Palos looked upon her with awe. She had already taught him so much. How to feel the energy of the world and use his magical sight, something he didn’t know he possessed, to see entirely new things, and now this.
“Where did you learn this?” he asked, not for the first time. “It’s, so overwhelming and… amazing.” She looked up from her hand straight into his eyes and her mouth turned up cheerfully.
“A little here and there, mostly sneaking around and finding time to practise outside of the view of the teachers.” She turned pensive, “though I’ll soon be out of stuff to show you. This is the last thing really. It’s taken me a long time to learn myself, but I guess it’s not really that much.”
Palos felt unease at mention of the teachers, but Trista had told him he had to take risks to learn. Something he was now fully accepting of, having learnt what he had.
But that’s the thing, there are no risks. At least in a magical sense.
For years they had been lectured about not using magic without a source and of the damage it could cause, but this had no risks. No damage. And that was the part that Palos struggled to understand.
“Will this help me ascend,” Palos asked excitedly. His birthday was fast approaching and little else occupied his mind now. Trista wrinkled her nose at the question.
“I don’t know, if I did, I would likely have already ascended, but learning more couldn’t hurt.” She turned her hand up, so the small orb of light hung just above her palm. “Now, hold your hand here,” she grabbed his arm and placed it over the light, so the orb floated between their hands. “Concentrate on the light, on its energy and pull it into yourself, slowly.”
He closed his eyes and found his centre as he had done so many times in the last few months. It came quickly now, and he identified the lights’ energy amongst the background of the world. It vibrated like a wind chime, high pitched and persistent.
“Okay, okay, okay,” he muttered, and began to pull, focusing on the sound and feeling. It resisted and its pitch changed, but he pressed on with all the strength he could muster. It was like pulling a liquid through a hose with naught but your breath.
“Yes!” Trista chirped excitedly, “you’re doing it!” He opened his eyes, and the world sprang to life, his vision swimming with vivid colours as everything sat suffused in a light of their own energy. The light appeared blinding white, and he could see tendrils reaching out from it into his hand.
The magic sight quickly faltered, as he struggled to maintain it while performing other tasks and the world snapped back to a darker, more washed out, natural view. The tendrils vanished from sight, though he could still feel them as he pulled at the sphere, like strings attached to his fingers. The light flickered and dimmed before vanishing, sending the barn into almost complete darkness.
Trista let out a little squeak and Palos heard her move quickly before her arms encircled him.
“You did it! You did it!” she whispered, “Oh Titan’s Mercy! It can’t be!” Palos felt his face-redden at the closeness, something else forbidden in the school, and thanked the Titans it was dark.
“What can’t be?” he queried, pulling away slightly as she untangled her arms from him.
“Oh, I’ve just never seen that before, I’ve never had anyone to practise with.”
“But…,” Palos began.
“Now, turn your hand over, and expel the light you took. You must be able to feel it.” She cut in. He did as she instructed and felt the energy tingling through his hand and at the very tips of his fingers.
“I... What do I do now?”
“Push it. All that light is stored in you. Now gently push…” before she could finish Palos pushed the energy and it exploded in a blinding flash that lit the barn and sent them both sprawling as they shielded their eyes. A few moments passed before Trista spoke again.
“I did say slowly, right?”
“Sorry,” he whispered. She chuckled in reply. A creak of wood broke through the nights’ stillness and Trista moved quickly, clamping her hand over Palos’ mouth. They sat that way for a few moments and Palos became increasingly aware of her pressed against him.
The whistle of a whispering wind drifted through the air and Trista tensed.
Tonight was clear…and there was no wind…
He put his hand over Trista’s and removed it from his mouth. She nodded, barely visible in the dark, and moved back against the wall, slowly crawling through the hay. Palos followed.
A small, removable wooden panel had been built into the back wall a long time ago. One that only a select number of students knew about and utilised to slack off from farm work during the hot summer months.
Palos prayed that it truly was a secret from the teachers otherwise this was not going to end well. The barn door rattled as something pushed against it. Palos’ head flicked around, and he saw a dark humanoid figure through the uneven wooden slats, illuminated by starlight. He crawled into the small corner alcove and Trista turned the wooden latch, careful not to make any noise. She pulled the panel free and looked out.
The murmur of the wind came again, and wooden floorboards creaked above.
They’re in the barn! How did they get in?
Palos imagined every possible consequence if they were caught. None of which were good, not to mention what they would do if they thought they were imposters rather than students. Palos’ eyes widened at the realisation. Trista slipped out soundlessly and Palos dove after her.
He tried desperately to move without making a sound but wasn’t as slender as Trista and pushed against the frame of the extracted panel. It creaked, and he sucked in air.
Two sets of boots, one above and one behind moved quickly. Their rhythmic thumping nearing faster than he would have thought possible. He shoved himself clear and fell forward, his chances of escaping undetected vanishing.
Trista snatched at him and pulled, changing the direction of his stumble. They bolted; stealth discarded for speed. A cry of alarm followed them but they didn’t stop, instead twisting and turning through the gardens.
Something shimmered through the darkness ahead of them and Palos yanked Trista behind a huge tanglevine bush.
‘What?!’ she mouthed soundlessly. Palos gestured forward and made the sign of an enemy. Fortunately, combat signs were part of their survival training.
She nodded and slowly lifted the vines. It was one of the largest patches in the garden and she gestured beneath it. He grimaced and slid under, careful not to snap any of the roots or branches. He bit down hard as the thorns stuck into his skin but forgot about it completely as Trista slid in next to him. She lowered the vines and settled, lying partially on top of him.
Not now. Why now?
Palos thought, trying to calm his breathing, but the intimacy made that difficult. He tried to push the cascading ideas from his mind, but every time he focused on something else, she shifted. Palos could have sworn she did it on purpose.
Something stirred in him, against all attempts to hide it and he had to take measured breaths to keep it at bay. He heard a short exhalation from Trista and must have turned a shade of crimson.
The next sound was not so playful. More like the scraping of talons upon something hard. He froze and felt Trista do the same. The sound grew closer becoming something akin to a wail and Palos gritted his teeth.
Palos knew the tactic, a pack of fen wolves had done it to him before, using fear to drive him from hiding. It had worked for them but wouldn’t work now. He gripped Trista reassuringly and breathed evenly.
They lay that way for what felt an eternity while the shrieking faded into the night. And then stayed longer, for they knew well the trap. There was little comfortable about the position, but they had no other options. As the tension of the situation passed Palos felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him and suppressed a yawn.
Trista pushed hard into his ribs, and he twitched. She had been tracing marks there, but he had dozed off and failed to notice. He concentrated on the marks and recognised the meaning.
I can’t do that. I haven’t practised enough.
He thought but could see no other options. Should they hide here all night, they would be missed at morning roll call and discovered. He closed his eyes and found his centre. As the scents and feelings filled him, he gasped. He had been trying to ignore his own emotions, but they came on powerfully and he struggled to push them down again. He concentrated on what little light the night held.
He pulled at it, gently, slowly. It didn’t resist as the magic had, but flowed easily into him, as water would a drain. He could feel it like static in his body, building with each second and as it did a darkness grew around them, a veil that hid them from sight.
He shifted uncomfortably and tapped her. Trista traced the word ‘slowly’ on his chest, and he nodded. He continued to pull at the light but as he collected more and more, the crackle of energy over his skin became more uncomfortable and he had to resist the urge to scratch at himself. The darkness continued to thicken and coalesced like smoke, sucking the limited light from the air.
Together they slid from the bush and stood. Palos staggered and the darkness thinned as he sought to balance. Trista grabbed his waist and pulled herself close, leading him on. Palos kept his eyes down, but as he focused something drew his eye, something that glowed lightly on Trista’s forearm. A rune that pulsed a deep green.
He faltered and tried to regain his focus.
She isn’t of The Dark. She isn’t.
He chanted internally, trying his best to ignore the rune. They passed up the steps and Palos hesitated upon seeing a shadowy humanoid figure waiting at the top. They gave it a wide berth and continued to the school, though no call of alarm went up as they passed.
Can this magic truly hide us from the instructors? So, they aren’t infallible after all.
Trista led him around the school and through a side door, it clicked shut behind them and they both slid down the wall.
“That. Was. Exciting.” Trista whispered, resting her head on Palos’ shoulder. He breathed quietly and grunted in reply. “You did amazingly by the way.”
“It hurts, I need to let it out!” he breathed. The sensation felt like his skin was burning. Trista bit her lip and nodded, wrapping her smock around his hands. He released the energy and it poured out like a zephyr, lighting the corridor even through the thick cloth. They both waited for anything, but no sounds followed.
“I was sure they were going to find us,” Palos sighed as the sensation evaporated and he slumped back.
“Quick thinking hiding there,” Palos could hear her smile, “fun too.” He blushed but grinned in relief. “I don’t think you should tell anyone about the new magic, or your sight. Like at all… or ever…”
“Agreed,” he mumbled.
“Anyway, best get to bed. Before someone sees us.” She pushed herself up and helped Palos to his feet. “One more thing though.”
Before Palos could react, she stepped into him, rose onto her toes, and pressed her mouth against his. His heart pounded in his ears as his mind reeled. His mouth parted and he sought hers, and then she was gone, darting out of the alcove and down the corridor.
He leant back against the wall and sighed. The excitement of the evening and how it ended left him feeling giddy. Almost enough so to forget the sickly glow of the rune on her arm, almost.
IT STRUCK HIM a few weeks later, as he daydreamed through some inane class. The words seemed to catch in his ear, while he gazed out the window at the changing leaves. The mountain frost had come early this year and left the trees and surrounding plant life panicked at their lack of preparedness. Green, yellow, orange, and blue leaves now littered the ground, providing some sort of mismatched carpet of colour, and the cool breeze whispered through the open windows of the stuffy building.
“As Dargoth struck at Yeiyen for his betrayal, he himself ascended to the higher pantheon.” The instructor droned on. Palos had heard the history of their titan many times before. The shrewd and quick Dargoth had removed a more powerful titan through clever thinking, but this time the word ‘ascended’ stuck in his ears. He had been playing his secret lessons through his head at the time and hearing Trista’s words.
Push and pull. Heat and cool. Up and down. The energy must balance, to act on one, you must take the other.
Up and down.
Ascend and fall.
His body jumped at the realisation, causing the splintering wooden chair to slam loudly against the ancient stones with a bang. The instructor paused for a moment at the interruption, before continuing his monotonous ramble. Palos received a couple of annoyed looks from others, who like him had been lost in a dream, only to be dragged back to the boring lecture with the sound.
He took no notice as his mind began racing through the evidence in his head.
Every time someone ascends, someone is punished.
He considered his time in the fens, realising it had likely been at the courtesy of someone else’s ascension. The anger he felt dwindled beneath the excitement of his discovery.
But why? Why was this the way?
His mind was abuzz with possibilities when the class was dismissed, and it took him a while to realise most of the chairs around him had emptied.
“Something on your mind, Palos?” the nasal voice inquired. The instructor stood a few desks away, his arms crossed. Careth was a bearded old man with a gentle aspect and crows’ feet earned from a lifetime of smiling, an unusual sight amongst instructors. Palos liked him.
“Nothing, sir,” he got to his feet, “just a thought.” The man nodded with a knowing expression.
“Aye, I’ve seen it often enough to recognize it, care to share?” Palos paused at the request, he knew it was not right to deny an instructor an answer, even one as openly friendly as Careth.
“Just a thought sir. Why would Dargoth openly expose Yeiyen? Did he not fear his wrath, or what if he had been wrong?” The elderly man’s eyes twinkled, hidden behind the purple flecks that floated across his irises.
“There are many thoughts as to why he took the risk. I imagine he prepared and calculated as much as he could beforehand, then decided to take the leap.” He seemed to consider for a moment before continuing, “There were likely many who tried. Just as there are many who yearn for power throughout history, but we remember such as Dargoth the Wise over others, because his gambit was successful, whereas so many others were not. Those were likely defeated and forgotten by history.” Palos nodded along as he spoke.
“How did he know the pantheon would reward him for his actions?”
“He did not, but displaying loyalty is often rewarded, and that is what Dargoth did. Showed his commitment to them.” Careth finished and glanced out the window. “It is time for you to be off young Palos, your other class begins soon.” Palos scooped the two scrolls off his desk and ran for the door, pausing briefly at the exit to thank the old man.
He ran through the corridors, dodging others that were likewise late for classes with a polite greeting. Ancient tapestries hung from stone walls, depicting great battles and monumental moments from history. Palos ducked beneath a book laden woman who let out a threat of retribution as she peered around musty tomes at her antagonist, only to see him disappear around a corner.
Palos let out a sigh of relief. He did not want the wrath of one of the librarians levelled at him, and then also to face punishment for being late to his next class.
He pushed through the front door into the open air and jumped the stairs, seeing his classmates find their seats beneath the pagoda at the far end of the garden. He continued past the trellises and vegetable patches, as well as those who tended them.
The instructor greeted him with little more than a nod as he ran up the steps and scooped up a metal cylinder from beside the door before falling into his seat. It was little more than a cushion on the wide wooden steps that radiated out from the centre. The teacher paced around the middle most circle, before nesting on a large satin pillow.
“I figured it out,” Palos panted, in a low voice, leaning to his left side, where Trista sat.
“What?” she replied, her eyebrow raised.
“Ascension,” he grinned, “I know what to do!” Trista’s eyes widened slightly and concern flashed across her gentle features.
“If we are quite done,” the teacher rumbled, directing an arching eyebrow in Palos’ direction. He clamped his mouth shut and sat up straight, not wanted to gain further ire from instructor Ravenas.
She must be in a good mood today.
Palos remembered when she had had students whipped while running up and down the mountain well beyond nightfall for some infraction or another. Palos smiled to himself, amused that her ‘good mood’ meant a slightly less rigid adherence to the rules.
“Everyone knows where we were last week. Hold the cylinder between the palms of your hands and breathe. Concentrate on it. Seize the energy in it and push it back and forth between your hands.” This was always the aim of the class and was the extent of energy control they taught at the academy. It was a tiring practice of pushing energy, and it seemed pointless since practice or use of it anywhere outside this class was strictly forbidden. Palos had instead been using this time over the last month to practise what Trista had taught him.
He breathed gently, calming his racing heart. Then pushed the flutter of excitement he felt to the side and concentrated, reaching for sources.
The feel of the earth and gentle breeze on his face filled his thoughts as he sought to ground himself in the world. The breeze carried the chill of the coming winter, the panic of lowland farmers to the south and the excitement of a great hunt from The High Mountains to the north. The plants and creatures around him quivered at the expectation of cold. Had they prepared, was it enough to take them through the hard winter to come.
Palos had only just learnt to feel such things and understood them little. Plants and animals spoke a very different language, one that he struggled to grasp.
There, at the centre of it, he felt the earth. The land itself had a heartbeat and he could feel its slow rhythmic pulse. It superseded all else, for it was the beat of the very world. He let his own rhythm synchronise with it and felt the calm and peace it presented fill him. Then, as he had done several times before, in violation of the teacher’s instructions, he opened his eyes.
The world vibrated with light and colours. The air and sky with a gentle white that sparkled through every breeze. The earth itself like a pulsing green heart and the animals nearby, hidden in their lairs, glowed an unearthly blue. At the centre of the pagoda sat the instructor, alight with the flames of purple fire, the same shade of purple that flecked the eyes of all the teachers.
As Palos turned his head slowly, he saw varying strengths of blue light pulse in his classmates and as his eyes turned to regard Trista, he found a golden light encapsulating the blue of her being. He struggled to contain the joy he experienced at the splendour of it all and felt tears on his face.
The world blurred, tinting a hazy violet and he silently sought to rub the tears from his eyes, only to discover no change. It darkened slowly as he turned his head and there he found two deep purple humanoid shapes regarding him.
Wonder turned to panic and fear, and he choked on a cry. The lights faded from all around him as his concentration broke and the shapes resolved into two dark clad instructors. One a thick set man whose facial features were hidden behind his long black beard and the other an exceptionally gaunt woman whose face was stretched thin over her skull with deeply sunken eyes. He quickly regained his composure and resumed his meditation position, though he struggled to perform the required task due to his panic-addled thoughts.
They saw me! What will they do? What can I do?
His thoughts screamed as he tried to slow his breathing and think.
Maybe they didn’t see you. Just slip out when the class is over.
Palos refrained from opening his eyes for the remainder of the time and tried to put the thought of the two looming instructors from his mind.
The end of the class came, though not quickly, and Palos stood.
“We need to talk,” Trista whispered, “I’ll come meet you later, but I have to be somewhere now.” She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze and headed quickly for the door.
Palos let out a grunt of acknowledgement and followed the rest of the students out, trying his hardest not to glance around.
“Palos,” a deep voice called as he exited the pagoda. A bitter cold sent chills up his spine, and he froze. The rest of the students continued onwards heads down, until he was alone on the path. He turned towards the source of the voice and found the instructors flanking the outside of the shrine’s entrance, arms crossed. The man grinned toothily through his beard.
“The Master wants to see you.”
